We took our backpacks and went on a pursuit of happiness. We gave sacrifices at the foots of what we valued the most, yet we returned heart still fast, foot swollen and soul anxious. Even more disillusioned, because happiness was not a treasure hunt. You cannot dig holes with a map in your hands, and dig another place when your hands are left empty with disappointment.
Sky opened her eyes in a room that was strange to her. The heart was calm due to some chemicals called escitalopram, haloperidol, and paroxetine. Dark orange curtains were tightly drawn. A tiny bit of a light beam that managed to escape was lighting the room as if the whole place was a sepia photograph. Her left arm was falling off the edge of the bed, and her legs were laid on the music man’s knees. She fell asleep with the sound of a lovely guitar that came from the next room. It was Bach’s Fugue in A minor, but Sky did not know it until she asked the guitar man.
Music man was rolling a joint at the corner of the bed. The room was peaceful, the heart was calm. There was no sound but Pink Floyd playing in the background.
“We are just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl.”
“You have to belong somewhere to be lost.”
“There once was a place I thought that I belonged to.”
“ It was a made up place to calm your anxious soul, to ease the pain of actually not belonging anywhere.”
“I could swear it was home.”
“It was a dream Sky, a mere vision.”
Sky envied how calm his soul was. “Maybe,” she thought, one day she could achieve that calmness too. It was Later that day they went to the countryside, Sky came too close to that calmness. The music man plucked lots of plums and grapes and Sky used the end of her dress as a basket of fruits.
The sun was melting into the sea, and its image was getting blurry as it left the sky with dark orange and purple blue. Sky laid her body on the cold sand and did not mind the sand in her hair, in fact, she liked it. The soft and warm breeze were blowing through the gaps of her toes and it was travelling its way through her hand, and her fingers. Music man was skipping stones. She stood up and bit a piece of fat plum, juice of it melted down through her cheeks, as she drew a circle with her pointed toe on the sand as if a ballerina was practicing rond de jambe. She circled herself and began to spin with her arms wide open. The wind travelled through the gaps of her fingers, made its way to her hair. As she span herself faster and faster Sky’s hair flew in the air like a kite free from its ropes. The heart was calm, the soul was not anxious. It was that moment she understood that happiness is not a treasure hunt.